A Waltz in the Park by Deb Marlowe Page A

the committee chairmen for dinner a few evenings ago.  Your father said I did well.”
    He knew if he asked her, she wouldn’t be able to name the committee.  Instead he smiled broadly.  “Of course you did.  You’ve always been a wonderful hostess.”
    The worried, distracted look reappeared on her face.  He tried to head it off.  “Do you remember the time you led the children’s games at the village fair?  I vow, those boys and girls had never had such a grand time.”
    She didn’t respond.  Her head was cocked, listening.  “You don’t suppose your father will come home early, do you?”  She gripped his hand.
    “No.  He’s committed all day.  I made sure.”  He tried again.  “Do you recall the children’s faces when you served them ices?  They could scarce contain themselves.”
    “I do hope they will not release early today,” she fretted.  “He’s promised that I can go home to Shropshire, you know.  Soon.”
    He sighed, knowing the visit was over.  “I hope he keeps that promise this time, Mother.  But perhaps I should be going, just in case.”
    She visibly relaxed.  “Perhaps it’s best, dear, although you know I’m so sorry to see you go.”
    “I know.”  He promised to come again when he could, kissed her on the cheek, and left.
    On the way out, he made an obscene gesture at his father’s portrait.  A wasted motion, but at least the fires of vengeance were stoked again.
    For the first time, though, they didn’t warm him.  The old urgency and need were there, but the flames left him feeling bleaker and lonelier than before.
    Cursing, he turned up the collar of his coat and set out for home.
     
    For days following her clandestine visit to Vauxhall, Addy tried to go about her normal routine while uncertainties flitted about her insides like butterflies.
    Waiting was not her strong suit.  She’d had no word from Hestia, nary a glimpse of Vickers.  Nothing had been settled—and more than a few things had been stirred up; her past, her future . . . and that kiss.  Oh, that kiss lived on, haunting her quiet moments and the long hours of the night. 
    She tried to distract herself and succeeded, but then she had new ideas, new plans, even some new information that might be useful—and no way to convey them.
    She tried to focus instead on things she could control.  She thawed her demeanor at tonnish events, hoping to encourage one gentleman or another.  She started preparing information for the talk she was going to have with her relatives.  She tried to keep herself as busy as her churning mind—which led her, one day, to a bookseller and stationer’s shop, in search of paper for a project.
    She had two weights of paper in hand, comparing them for sturdiness, when a girl rounded a corner too quickly and bumped her.
    “Oh!”  The papers slipped from her grip.
    “So, sorry, Miss!”  The girl, young and scrubbed clean but dressed in homespun, bent to help her.  She handed the sheets over and met Addy’s gaze with a significant look and a wink.
    Addy stared as the girl skipped back the way she’d come, then noticed the small, folded note atop the papers in her hand.
     
    Newman and Co. in Pall Mall.  Ask for the red gauze with chenille embroidery
     
    The papers were abandoned and she was out the door in seconds.  She refused to allow Henry to find a hack, but set out on foot, an absurd mixture of relief and anxiety lending speed to her stride.
    The linen draper’s shop was bright and airy, the merchant himself short and broad.  She asked after the fabric and he smiled.
    “You obviously have exquisite taste, Miss.  Allow me to escort you to our private showroom.”  Bowing low, he led the way to a back corner and opened a door with flourish.
    Vickers stood there, in the center of a tiny room shelved floor to ceiling on every wall and stuffed to the brim with gorgeous fabrics of every description.
    “Ohhhh,” she breathed.  Her eyes locked with his